Generic: Care less how others see you, move the way you want to.
Common Side Effects: A sense of confendence, individuality, fun, a few laughs
Stop “Move with an old film campy gait.” and call your doctor at once if you have a serious side effect such as: your legs get too tired, you stricken with dance fever
Hello my dears!
otherwise known as your humble narrator Emma Retina. Recently with help from my emotionally supportive, creative “assistant” I have coined our mascots/helpers. They are the Devoted Deviant Darlings, DDD for short if you please. They are only mapped for creation and it will be a bit of time, but they will be posable art creatures. The names cast upon them will be different forms of positive therapy. For example: Art, Music, Risperdal, DBT, CBT, Wellburtin, Meditation, Zoloft, Supports, Aroma, Lithium. More on these guys later.
Asylum Inpatient Press:
Contemporary Asylum News:
Beauty Brand Creates Campaign to Combat Mental Illness
“NEARLY 40,000 Americans commit suicide annually, about the same number that die from breast cancer. But while countless brands adopt pink packaging to raise awareness during Breast Cancer Awareness Month in October, corporate support for mental illness, the cause of most suicides, is decidedly scant.
Now Philosophy, the beauty brand owned by Coty, is introducing an effort to raise a projected $10 million over the next five years to combat mental illness. The Hope & Grace Initiative will direct 1 percent of sales of products throughout the brand’s SKIN CARE and fragrance lines to mental health charities, with a special focus on issues that particularly affect women, like postpartum depression and psychological trauma linked to domestic abuse. Grants typically will be about $25,000, with preference given to community-based PROGRAMS.”
Read more about Philosophy’s charity here
Former UN secretary general says failure to confront mental health problems undermines human rights of millions
“The failure to tackle depression undermines the fundamental human rights of millions and millions of people,” he said. “This begins with the denial of even the most basic levels of treatment and support.”
Read further on the subject here
This presentation is a continuation of a story submitted to us by David A. Carlson who has been educator of English. His presentation is long for one publication so ASR will be posting his story ongoingly through out future publications.
You can read the first installment of the story here
The Disquieted Family: Disturbance and Distress in the Carlson Home
By David A. Carlson
Orignally presented at the “Adolescence, Mental Illness, and the Impact on Society,” Mt. San Jacinto College–Menifee Honors Seminar, 26 March 2012
I have two teenage boys. The oldest, who is seventeen, carries, as I said before, a diagnosis of bipolar disorder and, frankly, carries so many of the traits that I carried in my teenage years; to my knowledge, though, schizophrenia is not too often diagnosed in the young but develops in the twenties. The youngest, who is fourteen, carries a diagnosis of ADHD with frequent bouts of severe depression. Later in this presentation perhaps you will hear more of their mental illness stories, at least that of my older son. They have suffered. I am a witness to and a sharer in their suffering. But, I am happy to say, they are surviving. I wonder about the fact that they deal with mental illness in a family where their parents also carry mental illness diagnoses; my wife is also bipolar and obsessive-compulsive (she is, in fact, a hoarder). I wonder to what extent all of our sufferings have been aggravated because our mental illnesses have handicapped our ability to cope with many situations and with each other. On the other hand, we, as their parents, have dealt with them in ways that perhaps non-mentally ill parents would not know how to do because we also have suffered much of what they go through. I hope to come back to that wondering later in the presentation or in the question and answer period.
I want to begin the body of this presentation by discussing my own mental illness. It is what I know best. Indeed no one, not even the mutually mentally ill can know what it is like to go through what another person who is mentally ill goes through. However, let me try to give you an inside look. The disturbance of my mind started quietly enough. It snuck up on me over a period of years, really. In fact, I cannot pinpoint the time when my mental illness began. I just know that when I was sixteen years old I became aware that I was to be the future king of Israel; my name being David it was natural, following the Old Testament/Hebrew line, that I should be. It is clear how I came to this knowledge: I was reading a book by one of the leaders of the church I was raised in and came across a passage stating his prophecy that a man named David in the last days would be heir to the Biblical David’s throne. When I read this the first time, I was over-swept with the sensation, settling in my heart and on my mind, that I was indeed this David. It was the sort of feeling that people describe when they speak of coming to know God. Even now, I am tempted to think that this sensation was legitimate and the prophecy real. But then I realize again, as I must realize every time I lapse into this type of distorted thinking, that scores of people have read the same book I was reading and scores more know of the book and both of these scores have had discussions on the book at length in church settings, yet no one, scarcely a soul, besides me has ever mentioned this seemingly crucial passage. Apparently, I am the only soul who wishes to deal with this line, if it is there. And I fight between saying that it is all just a circumstance where the line was personal revelation for me and no one else, so they just must not be paying attention and saying, more rightfully, that I have hallucinated and continue to hallucinate the passage or self-created the sensations I felt and that that explains why others seem to pay no attention to it.
It was only some 14 or so years later, when I was put on my first anti-psychotic (in this case, Zyprexa), that I quickly realized the reality that dispels—though only temporarily—the delusion. The reality settled on my mind without a fanfare of sensation but more subtly. It was not unlike the moment in A Beautiful Mind when John Nash runs in front of his wife’s car in the rain to stop her from escaping him and yells out that Charles’s niece never grows older, implying that, hence, the niece and Charles must be hallucinations—but not so dramatic. Mine was a sudden but soft realization. A real problem is, though, that often the distorted thought, the delusion, returns and I must relearn each time that the logic of the delusion is just not quite right but that there is a simpler, more likely logic that must be true. Even if others could read the passage that stood out to me—and I am not sure that I want to know whether or not they can—the false knowledge that it produced within me cannot be true. I am David Carlson, husband, father, college instructor, not a king to be anointed over Israel.
In the meantime, however, before the taking of Zyprexa, my life went on as I expected with only glitches here and there. I read scripture extensively, noting all the ways they taught me to live my life, especially the Old Testament, and marked the scriptures with fierce intensity and in an extensive manner. I look back over the markings in my old Bible now and cannot make heads or tails of what my notes and markings meant. But in the delusional years, as I have come to call them, those notes were as meaningful to me as the scriptures they were regarding. I saw patterns in the texts; I saw more messages that were clearly and exclusively for me; and they told me how to live, if only through metaphor. I did not actually live the Laws of Moses, but I did seek to purify myself in preparation to be king in what I saw as the spirit of those Laws. The purification process mostly meant study and more study, note taking and more note taking, pattern seeking and more pattern-seeking. It was a conspiracy over my mind with what are sometimes called delusions of reference. Secret messages to me would thus be uncovered. I wish I could say that I remember what most of those secret messages were, but the notes now mean nothing—they are gibberish— and my mind has seldom lent itself to long-term memory.
About the glitches I experienced: I can scarcely remember them. But I know they were there, disrupting my life and the lives of my family. I have heard stories from my mom and sister about me going off emotionally and throwing objects at them, soda cans and the like. I have no reason not to believe them. But I do not recall. Such is interesting to note, in and of itself. Life was smooth sailing for this man who would be king. I do recall sitting at the dinner table as a teenager with my family and hearing my dad tell of church leaders doing illicit things. My dad has since adamantly denied that those dinner discussions ever happened. And I have to believe him. They are more like dream-memories now than anything else, but at the time that I hallucinated those discussions they were as real to me as any other conversations I really did have with family members.
Of course, I never sought help for my psychiatric problems as a teenager. I did not know that I had problems. And if I did have an inkling that there was a problem, the delusion had such control over me and was so fixed in my mind that I knew the world was not ready yet for the revelation that I was to be king. I am not sure that my parents knew I had psychiatric problems either. I do know that there are cousins in my family with severe mental illness as well as I have, and family members all over the place spend more time covering up the existence of mental illness than getting it treated. I have privately discussed with one such cousin who is also schizophrenic her opinion, and now mine, that mental illness simply runs in our family. There is no question in my mind that it is largely genetic in transmission.
Single Piece submission:
This piece comes from J.R. Schakosky who after seeing one of my facebook videos kindly suggested I organised my bookshelf. Good advice ^_-
This Submission Comes From Joshua Markovich
His work takes lots of time and care
You’ve been sleeping for far too long, open your rusted eye lids, let the fluids flow and peel back your disbelief.
You’ve been living a dream.
You believe it to be true but it’s nothing more than a hazy screen.
You’ve silenced your soul, you’ve condemned your pride, the only thing that remains are your destructive lies.
So sit back and watch as the world ensues, and tears your bloody broken dreams in two. You wanted to find your calling, you wanted to find your place, but the only thing you found was a broken home where you’re nothing but a disgrace.
It’s hurts, doesn’t it? To feel so utterly alone, trapped in the cage that you’ve built out of stone. To feel powerless as you hide behind your own broken dreams, wearing them like a badge of honor, or some pointless degree.
You dug yourself so deep into debt that nobody sees you more than an unlikely bet. A skipped check. The only worth that remained was in your voice, until ‘I love you’, became nothing more than a noise.
You’ve fought warriors and toppled giants, only to sit here and kneel, like a helpless lion. A beast without a pride, who can no longer hide amongst the grass, who can no longer find anyone to harass, you’ve become like broken glass.
So as you try to glue yourself back together, try to open your eyes and look forward onto your endeavor.
Breathe, they tell me, just breathe. When my lungs are on fire and my brain is ready to retire, my heart is broken and my soul has misspoken and I believe the lies that fill my eyes, a beautiful dream.
Or so it seemed.
Wait, when did this become about me? have I become my own worst enemy?
I started this war to do nothing more than ignore my own self destructive patterns. With my eyes rusted shut and my soul sound asleep, maybe I was in the everlasting broken dream.
Maybe it was me that refused to live so peacefully.
I don’t know anymore, what is right and what is wrong. I can’t tell you what is truth or what’s just a thought.
I can’t breathe anymore, I’m starting to break, I’ve tried staples and tape, I’ve even tried cables…
I’ve stopped breathing now
My life is draining, I can feel the light fading, if I only had opened my eyes, and held onto my pride, maybe I wouldn’t be in this place.
Maybe I’d be alive, but the only reason I lived, was for a means to find. I didn’t seek after gold and riches, vengeance or indifference.. I sought after the most powerful thing we feel..
And that’s the day I lost you and I love you,
This Submission Comes From Chris Goris
Chris has suffered with depression for forty years now.
The answer: to the last publication’s riddle was the pupil
Riddle Me This: All about, but cannot be seen,
Can be captured, cannot be held,
No throat, but can be heard.
Who Am I?